It's a beautiful day in the village - TAKE A LOAD OFF, LOG 1

[libraryassistants]

Who: Readers and Actors
What: Beta Story Start - At the start of any particular Story, characters will be drawn to a section of the Stacks. Those inclined to resist will find themselves there anyway, through the shifts and changes inherent to the Library's structure. The Story manuscript will be laid out neatly on a side table, its pages lit by a faint aura that draws focus and beckons insistently to the Editors. Touching it will bring them into the Story.
Characters can either voluntarily touch the Story to enter it, or the Librarian will eventually sweep them in. Regardless of how long it takes them to enter, everyone will arrive at the same point in time.
When: November 14- November 27
Where: Woodhurst (UK) and the SS Radiance (in space!), 2019
Content warnings: Please tag warnings in comment headers!

In Woodhurst

It’s another Monday morning in Woodhurst, and as is often the case for the United Kingdom in the fall, it is raining. It is, all in all, a rather typical Monday morning. People shuffle off to work, dropping by the various cafes and shops for their morning caffeine. Polite (if meaningless) greetings are exchanged, vague comments about the weather are made. Heads down, trudging along, just keeping things going.

By midday, it’s clear that this Monday is a little bit… different. There are some people who seem especially cheerful and helpful. Perhaps you’ve just been served a free upsize of your morning coffee. Or a stranger held an umbrella up for you. People keep talking about the benefits of yoga? And it’s not just a bunch of people seeming to be having an especially good day and paying it forward (that would be strange enough). Some of your friends and loved ones aren’t acting like themselves, aside from being remarkably cheerful. They don’t seem to remember basic things, don’t know their normal rituals, and are generally just very off. You think one of them might have blinked sideways? Whatever it is that’s happened, it doesn’t seem right.

As for those ‘friends and loved ones’… The novices from the Interstellar Group are largely inexperienced with such a thing as covert operations. Fresh off the ship and with no frame of reference, their human disguises may have a few significant flaws.

However many fingers it is they have, they’re keen to help - perhaps a little too much so. Whatever it takes to make these human lives easier, whatever they can do to help them relax - the Group are on it! Hopefully they’ll catch on quietly.


On the IMW Group Supply Ship: Radiance

No plan survives contact with the enemy, is how the saying goes. But within the Interstellar Mindfulness & Wellness Group, the concept is usually applied to patients. Patients are, almost entirely across the board, unpredictable creatures - and while the science behind wellness is robust, there’s simply too much individual variation for a standardised approach. That being said, this particular plan seems to be going… rather more poorly than expected. It starts to break down once the word ‘kidnapping’ is brought up. It’s such an ugly word to use. The Group tries to avoid it. But in some of these cases, the humans need the Group’s own facilities! The idea was to convince the humans to follow them to a very not suspicious space capsule, or to get them to touch this particularly strange teleportation device, and they’d be on their way to recovery. However, most if not all the humans seem to be reacting… quite negatively to that. It’s almost like they don’t understand that this is for their benefit!

The ship is very nice, and perfectly designed to relax and comfort (--for the species the Group are familiar with, at least). Soothing music plays along the spaceship’s halls, which are lit in a soft violet glow. Potted plants are artfully displayed, though none of them are recognisable as any species found on Earth. For those with a sensitive nose, the flowers give off a bright, delicate scent; not unlike that of lavender and lemon myrtle. An entire stretch of glass is dedicated to the view outside, the Earth looking so serene from this distance; stars shining in the space around it.

For those Aliens aboard the mothership, maybe you’re delivering this hour’s yoga session. Maybe you’re leading a group chant or meditation. Are you perhaps talking humans into resting in the healing spa, or - for those so inclined - are you delving deeper, forming a connection, and really getting to know these humans? For the humans… well, at least the spa looks really nice, right?

[Space Spa Features:
Yoga - you’ve been herded into a room where a flexible alien encourages you to breathe deeply; holding it in your stomach and feeling your heart beat before letting it out in a big sigh. The routine is not very different to yoga on Earth, except… well, if you can’t find your proboscis, maybe that particular pose won’t work for you.
Sauna - the heat promotes circulation, but the temperature in here seems to be a little off.
Spa - you know what a spa is. Or, you thought you did. It looks like the aliens aren’t quite on the same page. Where there would normally be cucumbers, there’s a strange pink fruit. Where you’d expect water, there’s… a viscous fluid, gently rotating through a myriad of colours, that seems to soften and soothe your muscles as you soak in it.
And Others - the aliens have no shortage of remedies for what ails you! Since this is their first time experiencing humans, results may vary.]


Optional prompts (player-run):
An alien adrift, unsure what task to complete? Seek guidance from your leader.

In Woodhurst, unnerved and skeptical? Drop in at your local seedy bookshop to chat with some alien enthusiasts.

[Have a plan to drive the Story direction? Let us know, and we’ll add it to the list!

Info post can be found here.]

Comments

[hellandbackpack]

I. Wake up your eyes and darling your smile

Charles wasn't especially interested in academics to be fair. He kept his grades at the level he needed to stay on the cricket team, to keep the school from calling his parents, but otherwise? He was content to spend his time in school goofing off with his friends. So it might be somewhat odd that it was such a common thing to see him among the first students to arrive on any given day.

And here he was again, curly hair windblown, jacket unbuttoned, tie a bit askew but it all added up to an oddly charming sort of air of casualness rather than anything sloppy, A little tired-looking at first, but the moment he sees anyone else, that air is gone, replaced by his usual sunny smile and a short wave in passing to his locker.

Casual as he spun the combination, tugged the handle, only for it to remain stubbornly locked. He frowned in confusion, jiggling the handle before he gave the dial another go. Failing again.

"Startin' to feel personal, mate..." Muttered in a wryly amused tone, aware of someone else nearby, as he tries the dial again, this time pressing his ear against the door of the locker as if he could maybe hear the click of the right numbers like they did in films sometimes. Not that it helped, leaving him stepping back to regard his locker with a huff, hands on his hips.

"Right. Think I need to declare a blood feud. Sacred, passed down through the generations- this locker and I are mortal enemies now," He sounds indignant to be sure, but it's so over the top and theatrical that it earns a giggle from someone else with a more cooperative locker nearby, which was honestly what he was hoping for. "One more chance first, gotta be reasonable, yeah?"

The locker this time? Does open! But as it does so there's an avalanche of books, papers, comics, the entire contents of the locker spilling out over frantic hands trying to stop the slide, right onto the floor and across the tiled hall, earning startled yelps from anyone needing to dodge the mess, or laughter from anyone just loitering to see the mess, earning a pink edge to Charles' ears.

II. I was a kid but I wasn't clueless

In a small town like this, private business never stays truly private for long. Anyone who's lived in Woodhurst for any length of time knew of the Rowlands through the grapevine, husband and wife Paul and Diya, and their thirteen year old son Charles. And they'd also know that things weren't nearly as innocent as they seemed in the neatly-kept house with the cute little front garden. Plenty had tried to intervene over the years, reaching out to Diya, but the woman had sweetly insisted everything was fine with a quiet strain to the smile offered, and calls to the authorities by concerned parties didn't resolve to much of anything either- they couldn't do anything if no one in the household admitted what was happening after all, and all three of them were sticking to the same story- that it never escalated past yelling, that Charles was just a clumsy, excitable sort of boy who was just a bit accident-prone.

So it was hardly a surprise to see the door swing open in the dim evening light, Diya all but pushing her son out the door speaking in hushed tones, gentle but tense, urging him to go for a walk- 'Just until he calms down sweetheart.' He barely had a chance to reply at all as the moment he was clear of the door, it was shut, leaving him standing on the front stoop for a long moment in his oversized coat that was only half-buttoned in the rush. Breathing shakily, he glanced back as if willing the door to open, arms crossing in front of him, fingers fisting tightly in coat sleeves, jaw tensing and working as the door remained stubbornly closed, and he could hear the thunk of the lock.

His movement is slow and hesitant and he stops again when he's off the front steps, hearing the sharp wooden smack of a cabinet door being snapped shut. He froze, listening intently, only to flinch at the indistinct bark of his father's voice in response, tone angry. The boy shuffles a few more steps, but pauses again, clearly torn at the idea of leaving his mother in there.

"S'alright. She said it'd be alright, yeah? Just... just some shoutin' innit-" He muttered quietly to himself, though he didn't entirely sound like he meant it. Charles had never seen his father raise his hand to his mother, had never seen evidence of it, but that didn't stop him fearing that someday it would happen. The attempt at self-soothing would be a lot more convincing if his breathing wasn't quite so shallow and quick.

The bellow of his name in his father's voice, tone angry, demanding, had Charles freezing mid-step, shoulders curling defensively as his nervous gaze darted back towards the door like he was expecting to see it wrenched open, his father's silhouette backlit by the foyer lights. But nothing happened. More yelling as his mother's voice spoke up, a bit sharper to catch attention, but still steady and cajoling, trying to divert her husband's focus. He can't hear what they're saying, just the tones, anger and that tight, nervous sort of fawning, which just makes his anxiety all the worse.

But if he stays... what if he makes it worse? His father's rage always seems to spark all the more heated in his presence, as if something about Charles is so wrong that it infects him too. There's a clear reluctance in the way he slowly trudges down the walk, tension clear in every line of him as he forces his arms to uncross, jamming his hands into his pockets as he tries not to glance back again. Visibly pale, shaken, he can't help the twitch of shoulders higher, or the quiet wince as another bark of a shout echoes out a bit louder.

It's not hard to miss him skulking away down the block, but it's debatable if he'd realize if anyone was talking to him, his normal cheery facade nowhere to be seen in the moment.

III. The day is done and everyone's gone now

It's late to be out, even for adults. Not that this ever stopped Charles- it had become easier once his room had been moved into the basement to sneak out, but he was getting to the point where soon enough he'd be a bit too big to squirm out of the windows, and would have to risk the doors again. That though was a problem for the future. As it was, he'd wandered his way over to where the trains rolled through Woodhurst and taken up a perch on one of the low-slung concrete barriers between the tracks and the dingy little restaurant that sat nearby. It wasn't an out of the way spot, but at this time of night, or early morning depending on your view, it wasn't common for many people to come by. Perfect place to sit and have a think, which the teen seemed to be doing, watching the rustle of foliage on the other side of the tracks with a gaze that didn't seem to be actually focusing on the greenery but staring through it, thoughts a million miles away, the backs of his heels scuffing idly against the concrete of his perch.

It's hard to say what catches his attention should anyone else approach- a snap of a twig, the crunch of gravel, the shadowed shift of light just out of the corner of his eye- whatever the case, he can't help the way he starts visibly, hands snapping to the edges of the barrier to keep himself from tipping, wide eyes darting towards the other.

"Evenin'?" He manages after a startled moment, smile crossing his face all sheepish charm. He should probably come up with what he's doing here, this isn't a restricted area or anything, but people always seem to dislike his loitering around here.

"Just guarding the trains, you know. In case they try anything." It's a stupid excuse, and it's clear he knows it at the cast his grin takes, the soft huff of laughter that threatens to slip from him.

IV. If I'm talking too much then just stop me

Shadow was never going to let anyone forget that he was right the whole time.

That was the first thought Charles had, now that he was on the strange spaceship. Everything about it was sleek, designed to be soothing, which meant it was anything but for the teen. Things had been explained in that patient way that counselors had, and he'd been a bit too gobsmacked to protest at first, mind catching up to him only after he'd been shuffled into one of the communal spaces and left to 'process his feelings' or whatever they expected him to do.

He was caught at first by the sight through the wide panoramic view of the Earth through the window that seemed to dominate one side of the space, padding over to it to gently touch the... glass? Was it glass or some sort of alien force field? Whatever the case, it definitely made the idea of how far away home was hit. Was everyone back home okay? Would his mum worry about him when he didn't come home for dinner?

But that line of thought had something else occurring to him, a detail offered in that initial chat shaking loose and settling like a cold knot in his stomach.

No one would notice. They'd assured him that there was an alien who had been sent to masquerade as him so no one would worry about him while he was getting 'help' but...

A stranger wearing his face was going to be going unknowingly into his house. Was going to be interacting with his family, was going to be interacting with his Father who wouldn't know the difference. They might be kidnapping people do do this therapy, but they didn't seem to be bad and Charles felt distinctly ill at the idea of some unknowing well-meaning person, alien or otherwise, taking hits meant for him.

Which was what had him springing into motion once again, something frantic to the boy's movements as he darted down the halls, looking for someone, anyone that looked like they might be in charge, or at least able to contact the double. Surely they had a way to keep in touch, and they could warn them to... stay away from the Rowland home?

V. WILDCARD

(Want him somewhere else? Have a different prompt? Hit me up!)

II

[shelloflight]

There is someone waiting for Charles, ready to help him make good his escape.

Mitch - Michiko, really, but Shadow called her Mitch and she never seemed to mind - doesn't say a word, in her coat and helmet with her motorcyle idling at the end of the block, where she can only make out the loudest screams from his house.

Her presence is an invitation for Charles to ride behind her.

[hellandbackpack]

Charles wasn't entirely sure how she'd always seemed to pick up on when things at his house were getting... tense. He was fairly certain he managed to keep a lid on things when they were texting, didn't tend to risk voice chats unless his father was elsewhere for the evening or still at work. And yet here she was yet again, her presence just easing some tense little part of him, earning a thin smile.

Pale still, not quite trusting his voice to be steady, he gave a light one-handed salute as he willingly took the unspoken invitation to mount the bike behind her.

[shelloflight]

She doesn't always know. Doesn't always make it in time to help. But sometimes she just gets a feeling that she's needed.

She hands him a helmet.

"Put this on," she says, voce as sotto as she can make it. "Arms round my waist."

Safety first, for a nice change of pace from Charley's usual life.

II

[aetherweaver]

Nara'a barely knows where he is. He doesn't know what's going on, but as he walks down the street he stops at the sound of a door swinging open. He quietly avoids treading on the grass in front of the house, but when he spots the young boy looking... somewhat cowed.

As the boy skulks down the block, Nara'a follows him. His senses, while dulled in this human guise, are alert nonetheless. He'll keep after the boy until he's noticed, staying a good few paces away. It doesn't seem likely that this kid is going to want to be touched, but he is worried.

[hellandbackpack]

It takes a short bit, as wrapped in his own drama as he is, for Charles to realize he's got a tail once he stops looking back every few steps. It's when he pauses at the corner, glancing up the street then down it, one last look cast back towards the house where he notices the stranger.

It's likely not a comforting thing how quickly and easily that tense unhappy look melts immediately to something more casually friendly. Muscle memory that, for all there was still strain in the corners of the cheerful smile.

"Alright there, mate?" At least his voice stayed steady. Small favors that in the moment. "Haven't seen you around before... just move in or sommat?"

[aetherweaver]

He blinks and smiles, shaking his head. "... No, sorry. Just passing through town. I haven't seen houses quite like these before." Which is odd, because his tone is vaguely British-sounding. "But I was wandering and I... well. I heard something."

Nara'a glances back towards the house and then back to Charles. "Was wondering if you needed anything... like food or somewhere safe." He's not overly familiar with this kind of situation, but it's similar enough to stuff he's heard of that he's worried. "I know I'm just a random person you don't know, but I'm just... ah, I'm rambling now."

III

[ultimateedgehog]

Shadow's not put off by Charles' excuse, huffing a breath that's tinged with amusement. The battery-operated torch in his hand illuminates the ground in front of him, giving a steady stream of light.

"Suit yourself." The backpack slung over one of Shadow's shoulders is heavy with his skate gear, the shoes on his feet feeling too light. But it's dangerous to skate on gravel (--yeah, he learned the hard way), and he's got to cross both gravel and grass to get to where he's going, so.

"I'm checking that out." 'That' being the foliage Charles had been staring mindlessly through not a moment ago, and Shadow indicates it with a flick of the torch. There are no stars out tonight, which means Shadow's up to his old pastime of finding things to skate on that should not be skated on. He's sure there's some pipes or something back there that are ripe for him to gamble with.

There's no hesitation in the way that he steps up to, and then past, Charles. An open invitation, in Shadow's own way, for the kid to join him.

[hellandbackpack]

The light off the torch had made it hard to see who was there, but the voice that spoke up was comfortably familiar, and Charles couldn't help the way he perked up to hear it.

"AS if-" He huffs upon hearing Shadow intends to go trawling deeper into the woods, knowing what that likely means. "You promised you had a new trick to show off, and I wanna see it."

As he spoke, he slid easily off the barrier onto his feet, not hesitating in loping after the older teen in an easy jog to catch up with his stride.

[ultimateedgehog]

Shadow doesn't slow down for him, but he doesn't try to lose him either. He's glad, in a way, that Charles is following him - he's always left with a weirdly heavy feeling when the kid doesn't bother.

He gives a short hm of confirmation, pushing through the thick bushes to hop through the barrier they form between civilisation and whatever the heck is out there.

"I'm going to get that 50 metre grind afterwards." Sure, he's fumbled it every time he's tried - and almost broke his leg on the last attempt. That won't stop him from having a wealth of determination and confidence about it.

He will wait for Charles to clear the bushes, but won't be watching him - won't even be giving away that waiting is what he's doing. Instead covering his pause with the excuse of scouting out the thick press of the trees, trying to identify the best way through them.

The day is done

[angel_of_baal]

Tsang couldn't resist sneaking out of the ship. It did get so cramped in there somehow. Everyone had always made fun of it for wanting to have open air above it. Revanians didn't need that, so it was just, they presumed, another of Tsang's little quirks.

But here it was, following what looked like some sort of supply rail. The air was crisp with fall, and dried leaves schussed under its feet in a way that felt, well, magical!

Which was possibly why it was so distracted that it didn't hear the human until he spoke.

Tsang froze, all of its antennae quivering. It could try to just melt into the darkness, sure, but what would be the point in that? Actual contact! And an actual attempt at conversation with a new species! It was so excited that its ridges rippled colors. "I have heard they can be crafty." See? Fitting in already.

[hellandbackpack]

Dark as it was at this time? Charles missed the signs in the stranger that read as 'alien' just yet. They didn't sound familiar, which had Charles a little wary- he was reckless to be sure, but there was at least a little sense in him that said to be cautious given the time and place, but at the same time, the stranger was going along with his banter, which was a surefire way to earn a dazzling sort of grin.

"See! You get it! Gotta watch'em or they'll get up to mischief." Says the biggest mischief maker in the vicinity.

[angel_of_baal]

Tsang is scrambling to don its human costume, which of course it brought with it, but it had really wanted to do the whole Planet Experience--feel the actual ground under its actual feet, breeze through its actual antennae. So the rustling sound gets a little worse as it tries to jam itself into its clever hoodie and jeans combo. In the dark.

But now it's confused. What kind of mischief can a tracked creature get up to? Maybe its briefing was incomplete. Kai had suggested as much. "They could go off the rails?" Like this conversation.

Bit of 3/Wildcard

[thelightshines]

There have been a noticeable lack of a certain punk teen's presence within the last few days. A bit out of reach of anyone except if they choose to stop by the old man's bookstore. It was easier for Zarnex to decipher this human's life if he took it a step at a time. Where he stayed, where he worked, sometimes school, but it is optional apparently.

Now it's down to checking on the friends of Shadow. There was one human he kept bringing up that he had to check in on. Someone named Charles. His name actually came up in the database to be taken in. Seems like there was some difficulties within his family is what the information provided. His nose wrinkles as the smell of spice reaches his nose. The ruffling of a takeout bag as the cook behind the stall passes it over to him. Taken out of his thoughts, he takes the bag, thanking the cook before heading off to his actual destination.

And it's here that the timelines will meet, "Shadow" coming up to a sitting Charles and setting down the takeout bag with little fanfare.

"Thought we could go for a bite." To the other, maybe seen as a way of apologizing for not being around.

[hellandbackpack]

Charles knew that Shadow had his own life to get on with. That he couldn't be clingy or needy. But days ticking past without a sign of him? That had the younger teen worrying. Combing over everything they'd done the days he'd last seen the other for some idea of what he might've done to annoy or frustrate his friend.

Needless to say? He's relieved to see Shadow again, especially as the other's approaching with that gruff sort of invitation. Unable to help a grin as he visibly brightens.

"Looks like you brought the bite with you mate, but I'm game!" Trying not to sound nearly so excited, trying to seem at least a little cooler than that. It was only partly working.

[thelightshines]

Oh Charles can try to withhold his excitement, but he can feel it coming off him. Which puzzles him when the other felt the need to contain it. Why? He sets down his backpack, joining the other at sitting down on the curb.

"I've been working on something." He picks up the takeout, opening the bag to offer a container to Charles. The smell of curry is hard to miss once he opened that bag.

V - bookstore teenagers across the ages

[bashasasdemon]

Kaiisteron is going to kill Ranndurand.

Well, no, he's not. He's not even really going to pretend he would, but he will lightly contemplate murder for old times sake. The man said he had to 'pop out for something' and said 'you're in charge' and 'it's the same as it's always been, you remember don't you?' ignoring the fact that it has been decades and this is another planet.

He probably only has himself to blame, but that means when Charles comes in expecting to see Mister Howard, he's met instead with a supremely awkward looking man by the till. "Uh-- welcome," he says, trying to remember how customer services work, "Do you need anything?"

[hellandbackpack]

Charles of course was none the wiser. Another day, another quiet text from his mum that it was probably a good idea to hang out downtown for a bit. At least his father would be out later, so he could safely come home for the evening, but for now? Better to be elsewhere. Which meant coming to the bookstore, all but bounding inside with a loud, cheery greeting.

"How's tricks, Mister Howard?" He stopped dead, halfway through the uncoordinated unshouldering of his pack combined with already being one sleeve out of his school uniform jacket as he realized that the person behind the till? Wasn't Mister Howard. And it wasn't Shadow either. He blinked, before inwardly shrugging and pasting a friendly smile on regardless as bag and coat both were thumped onto the far end of the counter.

"Didn't know he was hirin' anyone new," He commented easily as he unhooked his tie from around his neck, balled it up and stuffed it into his pack where it would surely get lost and crushed between the history and English books. "M'Charles, what's your name?"

[bashasasdemon]

"Less hired, more conscripted," Kai answers dryly almost before he can stop himself- wow, this place is really bringing him back, isn't it, "I, uh, used to work here when I was a teenager. Dropped by for a visit, he had to go run an errand, and he put me in charge. He should be back soon." He better be back soon.

He looks over the young man, who is... definitely a teenager who frequents this shop, and from how he's treating the space, spends more time here than just as a customer. He doesn't know how to feel about that! "I'm Kai," he says, and thank god for both the hologram and years of therapy work that he can keep those conflicted feelings hidden, "Nice to meet you."

IV

[codeswitchcraft]

"Tell me where Michiko is or I'll shoot," an older teenager growls at him, aiming one of the bows and arrows from the school archery club right in his face--but just as quickly lowering her weapon.

"... Charles?" she asks, frowning.

(He might be able to recognize her as one of the new girls that Michiko has been inviting to her watch parties, the blonde that Michiko's got a little crush on.)

[hellandbackpack]

Charles can't help the absolutely uncool little yelp of alarm as he is suddenly face to point with an arrow. Wide-eyed, he is relieved when the teen lowers the weapon, and even moreso when he realizes that she's familiar.

"Yeah! Yeah, that's me," He considered her, willing his heart to calm it's racing pace now that she didn't seem keen on sticking him full of arrows. "Sio, right?"

[codeswitchcraft]

"Siobhan yeah," she says. "But my friends call me Sio and as Michiko's friend, you're close enough to a friend for that. Sorry about pointing the arrow at you, but there's bodysnatchers everywhere here."

you know what screw it it's late but we'll do it 💪

[unsheathedfromreality]

Open secrets in little towns like Woodhurst often evaded the eyes and ears of strangers. Sordid as they might be, they belonged to the town, not any nosy fly-by-night who happened by and got it in his head to poke into things. Just as Diya and Charles folded up around Paul like a hand concealing a bruise, their neighbors folded up around them and the make-believe line of a family no more troubled than average. If Woodhurst couldn't do anything for them, there wasn't a damn thing outsider interference would improve --

Or so the thought went.

But "Forster Green" -- and many of the other outsiders suddenly dumped into Woodhurst -- have resources at their disposal well beyond the ordinary. And, in this particular outsider's case, a bone-deep conviction that no healthy community would harbor a festering wound like the one in the Rowland house without acting to fix it. If Woodhurst were so sick that it could let Paul Rowland terrorize his wife and child with impunity, extraordinary measures were warranted to put things back to rights.

And shrikes were masters of extraordinary measures.

"Forster Green" -- a middling-sized blond man with an air of suppressed violence around him -- has spent enough time skulking through the neighborhood to pick his moment with a little care. Not carefully -- if he were thinking with full faculties about this problem he wouldn't be walking in on it with only three days' investigation behind him -- but he waits at least until Diya's turned her son out and Charles is halfway down the block before he melts out of cover and approaches the house to knock on the door.

"Good evening, Mistress Rowland. Is your husband in?"

Let's gooooo

[hellandbackpack]

It's not enough time for Paul to calm entirely, but it is enough time for his fury to quiet again. To return to a quiet simmer, though there was little doubt that it would be so very easy to spark it again. In this case, a tenuous return to some semblance of calm was the best scenario.

'Forster' would hear the quiet murmur of Diya's voice, likely assuring her husband that she'd get the door, soft footfalls, the click of the lock before the door was being opened. Charles' mother pauses at the unfamiliar man on her stoop keeping the door from opening entirely against her shoulder, brows furrowing slightly in uncertainty at the odd address as she glanced back towards what was undoubtedly the living room before looking back again, a smile on her face.

"I... I'm sorry, but it's not the best time. I can let Paul know you've come by, Mister...?" A tilt of her head, tone polite but with that underlying frisson of unease.

[unsheathedfromreality]

"Call me Green," "Forster" offers. It isn't a name, and no one in this home will -- likely -- want to call him by it when he's done what he's come to do.

Speak of the devil and he's liable to hear.

"To the contrary -- this is the best time for what I've come to speak to him about." He looks directly at her for a long moment -- notes the way she stands in the door, stands before her husband -- and something in him snarls in voiceless outrage.

Men who beat their children were to be abhorred. Mocked. Removed. Women who beat their men -- or men, their women, where nature had reversed the balance of strength -- deserved the same, or worse. To be plucked from the flock community, to have their names pruned from the family branches they'd bruised --

(Women who killed their husbands in silence, and never laid a finger on their children, but kept them hidden away from family and terrified of the least word of condemnation -- )

"Forster" lets none of those considerations show in his face. Keeps his stance and his hands open, unthreatening. "But if he will not speak to me now, mistress, I'll return every night until he does, or until I don't hear again what I heard tonight from your windows."